Absolve
by Nina542
Summary: He had walked out of her apartment leaving his heart behind. But since she had ripped it out of him and left it bleeding on her floor, it didn't much matter anyway. At least he didn't think it did – until she'd arrived at his doorstep. An "Always" fic.


**I feel bad because I said I'd do an Epilogue to my other Castle story, Breaking It. But, well, who could resist the season four ender?**

**I do fully intend on continuing this story in naughty, naughty ways. Just gotta work up the nerve**

**Disclaimer: "Castle" belongs to Andrew Marlowe and the good people at ABC.**

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Richard Castle barely knew what was happening. One minute he had been in his apartment with nothing but his thoughts – his twisted, angry, heartbroken thoughts – and the next, the woman who'd inspired those thoughts was standing at his door, drenched in spring rain. What was more, she had thrown herself at him. Kissed him. _Kissed him. _And whispered again and again how sorry she was.

His head spun trying to think of possible explanations for this sudden change, and his mind flew back to their fight in her apartment. The fight that seemed like a lifetime ago. She had been so angry. They both had been. But he had told her this investigation would get her killed, and she had brushed him off. He had told her he loved her, and she'd thrown it back in his face. And when he'd begged her not to do this, with tears in his eyes and his throat closing up so painfully that he could only manage a whisper, what had she said? That it was her life. He didn't get to decide.

It was in that moment, standing in her living room, that he knew. He knew that he had not only failed at convincing her to stop pursuing her mother's murderers, but that Katherine Beckett didn't give a damn about him. Didn't give a damn that he wanted, no – _needed _– her to stop, and certainly didn't give a damn that he was unconditionally, painfully, and _stupidly_ in love with her.

He had walked out of her apartment leaving his heart behind. But since she had ripped it out of him and left it bleeding on her floor, it didn't much matter anyway.

At least he didn't think it did – until she'd arrived at his doorstep.

Now, as Beckett cupped his face, their foreheads pressed together, ragged breaths mingling in the space between them, Castle tried desperately to connect the pieces. But nothing fit.

"I'm so sorry," Beckett whispered again, and he felt their lips connect for the second time.

No.

Grabbing her by the wrists, he jerked her away. But when she looked up at him, her eyes shining with fresh tears, he almost lost his nerve. Almost pulled her back to continue the kiss and take away her pain, but he needed to deal with his own pain first.

She had left him a broken man and he wanted answers.

"What happened?"

There was a beat, and then; "He got away…and I didn't care."

Was that a _smile_?

Castle released his hold, but could only gape in confusion and shock as she continued on, telling him that she'd almost died, and that all she wanted was him.

No. This can't be real.

Staring at his lips, Beckett went in for a third kiss, but he remained motionless. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her. But damn it, he was afraid. Afraid and angry. Afraid to believe her. Angry that she thought a kiss and an apology would somehow make everything ok.

_I told you this was over, _he wanted to scream. _I thought you didn't give a damn about me?_

But instead, as she pulled away and ran her fingers down his cheek, he looked at her. Really looked at her, for the first time since she'd burst through his door.

And that's when he saw it. He saw a look in her eyes that he'd imagined countless times but had never actually seen in real life. A look that spoke of clarity. Of understanding. A look that told him she'd finally let the last pieces of her wall wash away with the rain.

She looked free.

_Yes, _was the only word his brain could muster before his body took over.

Rocketing them against the front door, he barely registered the sound of her back connecting with it and the slam as it closed. Pinning her against the door, Castle proceeded to come undone in her arms. Feverishly, he plundered her mouth with his tongue, determined to taste her. When she responded in kind, he felt his knees weaken, and it was all he could do to stifle a moan.

His hands couldn't touch enough of her. Her narrow shoulder, slender waist, her curving hips. His fingers burned as they explored. Not moving fast enough. He couldn't feel her fast enough.

Dear God, he wanted her.

Breaking their kiss to trail his tongue down her delicate neck, he sucked hard on the flesh and felt her nails dig into his back as her ragged breaths echoed in his ear. Emboldened, he crushed her against him, determined to leave his mark. To prove to the world that she is his. Finally, all _his_.

Then, her thigh pressed hard against his already-throbbing manhood, and his breath hitched. Lightning.

Without hesitation, his lips found her breasts. Sucking, teasing, kissing his way across them, he pulled her against him, encasing her in his arms.

He feels her nails rake across his back and he plunges lower, darting his tongue out to taste the milky skin between her breasts and is rewarded when she shudders. His groin aches for release as he continues downwards –

_Oh, god._

He recoils as if electrocuted, gasping for breath. Knowing in shock and horror what his exploring tongue has discovered.

Her scar.

_The_ scar.

He has to see it. And almost reverently, he undoes the top button of Beckett's blouse, gently parting it to reveal the near-perfect circle, no bigger than a dime, nestled between her cleavage. He stares at the scar, stunned that such a tiny thing could have caused such destruction, and allows the bombardment of guilt, anguish and terror to overwhelm him. The memories of that day haunt him, and the blast of gunfire, the screams of fear, and the wailing of sirens burn his ears.

_That should have been my scar. It almost killed you, and it should have been me._

He meets her eyes, expecting to see pain and regret. But instead, he sees acceptance. He sees healing. Strength. He sees life.

As if on cue, Beckett takes his hand and presses it to her chest, covering the scar with his fingertips, and his fingers with her own slender ones. He feels the pounding of her heart and knows what she is silently telling him: she is here. And she is alive.

_Oh, Kate…_

Tilting her head, she places her lips on his. But instead of resuming their frenzied passion, this kiss is slower. It languid, slow-burning heat, full of promise. Full of _always_. It is a kiss that absolves them both.

Their lips part as slowly as they came together, and as he looks down at her radiant face, he sees that she is smiling.

He is speechless. In awe. He can't comprehend how such magnificence can be part of his life.

And as her hand runs down his arm to find his own, he wordlessly lets her lead them towards his bedroom.

…_I love you._


End file.
